Page 16 of Unwanted Vows

“That’s why,” he says. “I thought I’d seen the ladies lose their cool, but Catriona flew into a full rage. She says her marriage to Leland is legitimate and witnessed, and that they have two lovely children, and where the heck does he get off tearing up happy families. So he comes back with this ‘not a real Lane’ BS again, and that the contract was for her to marry the oldest son of Albert Lane, and that they can be sued for breach of contract.”

“Dad’s oldest son would be my brother, Leland,” I say. “Mom and Dad told me about him when they visited while I was in South Africa. After their yacht sank, as I recall, I messaged you not to throw out their stuff, that they had papers you needed to see. It took a few messages back and forth to discover that the guy I’d been hanging out with is actually my older brother, so I can see why someone might be confused. But I’m still not sure what you want me to do.”

“I brought the youngsters all here, to make sure that we have permission-to-treat forms on file for everyone. We need to order DNA kits or else take samples ourselves and send them out. I need to ask Charles what the best way to handle this will be. But for now, we need to make sure we are allowed to test them.”

“That seems like a really petty thing to have to do if you all consider yourself to be family. Who cares what the DNA says,” I say.

“I don’t disagree,” Richard says. “To us, the kids are all family. But not to everyone and so here we are. Give me a hand with this, and maybe we can get the ladies all settled down. Kate suggested we use the information to make family trees so it would make sense to the youngsters.”

“That’s the weirdest story I’ve heard in a while,” I say. I fully understood why Catriona would be angry. She went through a lot to keep her husband and her tiny country safe. “Why aren’t their parents here with you?”

“Oh, that’s not the whole story,” Richard says. “I can tell you the rest later. Oh, I forgot, Charles and I were joining the girls for lunch, when he and Austin were asked to go see about some guy who got stabbed here on the fairgrounds. You know anything about that?”

“I do,” I answer, while accepting a stack of permission slips to go through. “Security brought him in. I’ll tell you more later. So we are testing all the kids so they can make family trees, is that the story we tell them?”

“Yes,” Richard says, beaming with delight. “Isn’t Kate clever? No one gets singled out, and the youngsters do something fun.”

“You do realize,” I say, handing a paper form to a slim tow-headed little guy I don’t recognize, but who has a definite look of family about him, “that you might not be able to get the parents’ consent for this?”

“I think we can,” Richard assures me. “Not only are they mostly all family, we get signed permission slips from the parents for medical treatment and for participation in field trips. It makes things easier.”

“I think you might be pushing the boundaries here,” I say. “But if you are sure, we’ll go ahead.”

Richard calls Charles, who says that someone can send over some testing kits from the clinic the next day. We finish verifying that we have consent forms on file for all the children, and Richard makes a few more calls to chat with parents who aren’t present.

I listen idly while he explains to the kids that they are going to do a project about how they are all related and learn about DNA at the same time. The kids seem really enthusiastic, even if I think the whole thing is strange and invasive. Maybe I’ve just never been that attached to family pride. Perhaps I’d understand better if I was proud of being a Lane like they seemed to be.

“What was that all about?” Ms. Northernfield asks, coming up beside me.

“I’m not really sure. Something about an accusation that Leland isn’t really a Lane, along with DNA testing so the kids can make family trees.”

Ms. Northernfield turned wide eyes on me, looking as shocked as if I had stabbed her. She whispers, “They’re doing what?”

SECRETS

MADDY

I feel as if someone punched me in the gut. It’s all over. They will identify Paul as being Andrew’s son, and that awful man in New York City will try to take him away from me — just as he had tried to do nine years ago.

“What’s wrong?” Dr. Lane queries. “You look as if someone just stole your last hope.”

I pull myself together. Maybe they won’t make the connection. No one has yet commented on how much Paul looks like the other Lane children. The resemblance should be a dead giveaway, but I’m glad that no one has said anything to that effect to me. I paste a smile on my face and say, “I’m not sure anyone realizes how much of an invasion of privacy this is.”

“Well,” Dr. Lane says. “Most of the kids are family, so I don’t suppose they thought of it as being invasive. Paul was included just so he wouldn’t feel left out.”

I feel my smile turn into a rictus. Just for once, I would have been happy for my son to be left out. I make my jaws relax into something resembling what I hope is a pleasant expression.

“What an interesting project,” I say. “Oh, look, we’re starting to get a line again.”

That gets Dr. Lane’s attention. He immediately turns to the next person in line.

With the doctor suitably distracted, I greet the person in front of me. He has a nasty grease burn on the back of his right hand and arm. “Goodness,” I say. “What happened?”

He grinned at me. “I took my eye off the deep-fat fryer. Saw a pretty girl walking by. I slid cold dough into hot grease and it spattered me real good.”

I laugh. It is a little forced, but comes under the, “fake it until you make it”, heading. It loosens up a few of the icy tendrils of fear that are gripping my heart. Laughter is good medicine. Sadly, it is probably just a temporary palliative.

“So I guess you’ll keep your eye on the task at hand from now on?” I say.

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